


Louvre Again

by miladys-winter (lykxxn)



Series: The Louvre Grammar and Boarding School [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Bullying, Canon Character of Color, Canon Disabled Character, Child Abuse, Crushes, Diary/Journal, Documents, Families of Choice, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Flamel is everyone's dad, Football | Soccer, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mischief, Mystery, Papa Treville, Rochefort is an ass, poor constance, sorry constance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lykxxn/pseuds/miladys-winter
Summary: D'Artagnan's second year at Louvre has begun. Exciting things await: second-year subjects; football try-outs; and the promise of more information on the school.But not all is as it seems.When the Advanced War Studies teacher, M. Marcheaux, goes on sick leave, a mysterious character appears in his place. And, as Constance certainly finds out, appearances can be very much deceiving.





	1. Louvre Nouveau

**Author's Note:**

> **This is a sequel.** If you haven't read _First Year at the Louvre_ , then this might be confusing so I recommend you read that first. If you've already read it, then go ahead and read this chapter.

The platform was packed with children in uniforms, carrying large suitcases. A few of the older ones said goodbye to their parents immediately, whilst the younger ones hung on a little bit longer. ‘Come _on_ , Thomas,’ said a Cassiopeia second-year, tugging at his little brother’s sleeve. ‘I can see d’Artagnan and Aramis over there!’

‘Wait for me, Athos,’ whined Thomas, who was starting his first year at Louvre. His blue-and-orange tie hung loosely around his neck.

‘Look at your tie,’ admonished Athos absently, still dragging his brother along the platform. ‘Can’t you dress yourself?’

He joined d’Artagnan and Aramis, who had grown a little over the summer. ‘This is my brother, Thomas,’ said Athos, steering the wriggling eleven-year-old towards his two friends. But Thomas seemed much more preoccupied with looking in the opposite direction.

‘Look at _her_ ,’ he grinned. ‘She’s _beautiful_.’

A dark-haired girl was heading over to them. ‘Milady!’ cried d’Artagnan in excitement. ‘Have you seen Constance or Porthos yet?’

‘No,’ Milady cried back. She looked Thomas up and down. ‘Who’s this?’ she asked, ruffling his hair.

‘My brother, Thomas,’ said Athos, as the first-year ducked away.

‘You don’t think they’re already on the train, do you?’ asked Aramis, swiftly changing the subject upon seeing Thomas was more than a little uncomfortable with Milady’s affection.

‘They’re over there!’ said d’Artagnan, pointing to where Constance was walking with Jacques. They were looking for a place to board the train that wasn’t getting busy.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Jacques, grabbing the collar of Constance’s blazer.

‘To see my friends,’ she said pointedly, gesturing in the direction of d’Artagnan, Aramis, Athos, Milady and Thomas.

Jacques laughed. ‘Who’d want to be friends with _you_?’ But he let go of her collar, and she hurried towards them before he could change his mind.

‘Bonacieux’s such a dick,’ commented Milady. ‘On the plus side, though, he’s not actually related to you.’

‘And they’ll never invite you to family reunions in the future,’ added Aramis. ‘So after sixth year you don’t really have to see him again.’

‘I dream of the day,’ said Constance quietly.

‘We’re just waiting for Porthos and we’ll be good to go,’ said Athos.

‘We’re the only ones out here, apart from a few first-years,’ worried Constance. ‘I hope he doesn’t miss the train!’

It was about five minutes before Porthos arrived, a short, blonde-haired girl attached to his arm. She must have been a first year; she was in school uniform and wearing Arcturus colours. ‘Sorry I’m late!’ he cried. ‘’Ad ter get Flea ‘ere ready.’

Flea smiled nervously, and she edged a little further away from Porthos and closer to Thomas. The second-years boarded the train, eagerly followed by Flea and Thomas.

‘Go and find your own compartment,’ said Athos to Thomas. ‘What about over there?’ He pointed to a compartment that would’ve been empty if it weren’t for the curly-haired girl sitting inside. ‘Go and make friends.’

Thomas scowled and stalked off, eagerly followed by his shorter, blonde-haired counterpart. Athos breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Finally,’ he muttered. ‘He’s so _annoying_.’

Athos, Porthos, Aramis, Milady, Constance and d’Artagnan found an empty compartment to sit in, and once in the privacy of the compartment Milady smirked. ‘Let’s finish off what we started last time.’

‘Not yet, not yet,’ urged Aramis. ‘How was everyone’s summer?’

Milady shrugged. ‘Mine was okay. We went to a fair.’

D’Artagnan also shrugged. ‘I worked on the farm. We’ve hired a farm hand named Planchet. His son’s a little younger than Thomas.’

‘Thomas and I went to Le Havre for a few days,’ said Athos. ‘That was fun.’

‘Well, Aramis knows I went to see ‘im,’ said Porthos. ‘It was fun to not be at the Court for once.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Aramis with a grin. ‘It was great! We went bike-riding and where I live there’s a lake, so we went there to swim. It was so fun!’

D’Artagnan looked to Constance. Quietly he said, ‘How was your summer? It wasn’t too horrible, was it?’

Constance smiled gratefully. ‘It wasn’t bad. We went to the zoo. Jacques―he’s gotten _better_. He’s nicer to me. The same can’t be said for his parents, though,’ and she grimaced.

‘Right, right,’ said Milady, clearly unable to hide her excitement any longer, ‘so we’re going to do the gritty stuff this year. I’ve brought the notes with me; we’re going to find out so much!’

‘Not now,’ said Athos impatiently. ‘Do we know who’s teaching Advanced War Studies?’

Milady’s face fell, and Constance looked sympathetically at her. She knew how much the secrets of Louvre meant to her.

‘I do!’ said Porthos. ‘It’s M. Marcheaux. He used to be in the army, just like M. Treville.’

‘Treville!’ cried Aramis enthusiastically. ‘Oh, I _have_ missed him!’

‘I’ve missed Flamel,’ Constance put in quietly. ‘I’ve missed going to Alchemy and Mythology, and I’ve missed the _dorms_ and Matron’s cooking.’

‘Me too,’ agreed d’Artagnan, his mouth watering at just the thought of it. ‘I’m so glad to be back.’

They played cards for a while, and Porthos had a nap, which was brought sharply to a close when Aramis flicked him with a card. They shared sweets and swapped sandwiches, and somehow Porthos ended up with half a sandwich and three slices of cheese.

It was a joy to see the grand, old building of Louvre come into view. It was like coming home. For Constance, Porthos, and Milady, it really _was_ home. D’Artagnan’s eyes widened in amazement. This was the first time he’d seen Louvre from the train window; it really was spectacular. He spotted the Andromeda towers as well, some distance from the school but still in close proximity. He couldn’t spot any of the other dorms, apart from the bricked roof of the Perseus dorms pointing up past the trees. A gentle warmth settled in his stomach.

The train ground to a halt, and they hurried to grab their suitcases and get off the train. ‘Where do we go?’ asked Aramis.

Milady shrugged. ‘I guess we have to make our own way.’ She and Athos gave a quick wave goodbye and went in the direction of the Cassiopeia dorms.

‘D’Artagnan! Aramis!’ came a cry, and the headmaster’s son, Louis Bourbon, came hurrying towards them. ‘Hey, can we walk to the dorms together? Wait, wait, there’s someone I need to bring with me …’ He put his suitcase down and hurried away again. Aramis raised his eyebrows at d’Artagnan.

When Louis returned, he was assisting another Sirius boy who was walking mainly with the aid of a thick black stick. ‘This is my step-brother, Philippe.’

Philippe smiled nervously behind black locks. ‘Please, call me Feron,’ he said quickly.

The four ambled slowly towards the Sirius dorms. Aramis and d’Artagnan learnt that Feron was a die-hard Star Wars fan―which was evident, judging by the jacket he was wearing.

‘I used to watch the originals all the time with my dad,’ he said, but then quickly changed the subject. ‘Who’s in classes with me? I’ve taken History, Advanced War Studies, and Geography.’

D’Artagnan beamed. ‘Me too!’

‘You’re with me for History, too,’ said Aramis.

‘Yeah, me too,’ added Louis.

It was odd not to have the same common room as last year, but it didn’t look so different. The students crowded round to see who was roomed with who, and d’Artagnan smiled in relief upon seeing that he was with Aramis, Louis and Feron. Although he was on good terms with his other housemates, he was glad to be with his friends. The four sat in the dining room to eat some of Matron’s chicken sandwiches before heading to their dorm. There were two bunk-beds, so d’Artagnan and Feron had the bottom bunks, and Louis and Aramis had the top.

D’Artagnan lay awake in bed, listening to Aramis snore, before he finally settled on his side. He sighed happily.

It was good to be home.


	2. Des Lettres

The new term began with the lesson d’Artagnan hated most: Physical Education. But it was quickly followed by Biology, and he, Aramis, Louis and Feron hurried to sit together. M. Landry was as short and plump as ever; except for a few grey spots in his usually brown hair, he hadn’t changed a bit.

It was good to be back at Louvre, d’Artagnan thought, and allowed himself to get lost in Landry’s teaching.

At break, he and Aramis met Milady, Constance, Athos and Porthos in the lunch hall, where they were excitedly discussing the new timetable.

‘Treville’s ‘Istory is brilliant!’ enthused Porthos. ‘We’re doin’ the Borgias! You’ll love it!’

‘I had Economics; it was really fun,’ said Constance, ‘but I just can’t wait for Alchemy.’

Aramis nodded. ‘I want to see Treville again … it’s a shame we don’t have History until period four tomorrow.’ He frowned. ‘Anyway, Milady, let’s have a look at those papers of yours.’

Milady looked surprised. ‘Oh! I didn’t think you were interested in them … I don’t have them with me today; I left them in the dorm. Maybe tomorrow?’

That surprised d’Artagnan. He’d have thought Milady would’ve mentioned the notes the second she could get a word in. Still, it was the very first day and everyone was hurrying to settle in and get used to the new optional subjects they’d taken.

After break was Mythology, which was compulsory until the very last year of Louvre. They still didn’t know why exactly, but the mystery was fun for d’Artagnan. Once again Mme. Bosquet started their first lesson off with a very odd speech, and they were off again.

Personally d’Artagnan was very relieved to hear the bell for lunch; he and Aramis grabbed a bowl of macaroni cheese each before sitting with Anne and Constance at the only empty table. ‘Where is everyone?’ asked Aramis.

‘Porthos went to see Treville about the History homework,’ said Anne, smiling shyly at Aramis, ‘and I don’t know about Milady and Athos.’

‘Apparently the Cassiopeia Chemistry class all got detention,’ said Constance. ‘Not sure what for, though.’

‘That’s a record, even for Milady,’ said Aramis mildly. ‘Detention on the first day!’

They spent the next fifteen minutes chatting quietly about school and teachers until the bell went, and d’Artagnan and Aramis had to go to Human Biology.

Sixth period, however, was the lesson that excited them the most. Second-years got a library hour, where they could read anything they liked that was in the library. D’Artagnan sat with Aramis, Louis and Feron, and he picked out a book on Nicholas Flamel to quench his curiosity about the alchemist— _and Alchemy teacher_ , he thought with a slight grin. Aramis picked the second Harry Potter book, Louis was reading a factual book on the Borgias that he’d picked up from Treville, and Feron pulled out an old, battered simplified copy of Othello.

‘You’re reading _Shakespeare_?’ hissed Aramis. ‘That’s so boring!’

‘No, it’s not,’ replied Feron evenly. ‘Not if you understand it. It’s actually really good—but it’s very sad at the end.’

D’Artagnan’s book was quite short, and actually provided more information on the Philosopher’s Stone and alchemy in general, rather than Flamel himself. _I bet I could fill in a few things myself_ , thought d’Artagnan.

Before long, the reading hour was up, and everyone hurried to put away their books and get out to see their friends. D’Artagnan badly wanted to say something about Flamel to Aramis—six weeks without mentioning it to anyone made him very desperate to blurt out everything—but Louis and Feron were none the wiser about their secret, so he had to keep quiet.

On the way back to the Sirius dorms, they ran—quite literally—into Milady and Athos. ‘Hey, I was just looking for you, Aramis, d’Artagnan!’ she exclaimed, plastering a smile on her face. ‘Come on, we have some unfinished business to take care of.’

Neither of them knew what Milady was on about, but they shrugged and said their goodbyes to Louis and Feron anyway. They hurried back to the library and sat in a secluded corner, and suddenly d’Artagnan had an inkling of what Milady might want to speak to them about.

She pulled out a folder of papers from her bag. ‘I thought you didn’t have them,’ said Aramis with a small frown.

‘I went back for them,’ replied Milady nonchalantly. ‘That’s why Caillat gave us detention.’ And then she cursed the Chemistry teacher underneath her breath. ‘So we’re just waiting for Porthos and Constance and then I’ll show you all.’

Constance arrived first, flushed and red-faced, and quickly sat down, rubbing her cheeks. ‘Are we waiting for Porthos?’ she asked. She huffed and frowned. ‘I hate Rochefort. Now he’s in the upper set he, Jacques and Lucien all sit together and talk about me. It’s horrible.’

Milady glared darkly at the table. ‘Who’s Lucien?’ she asked quietly.

‘He’s their friend, I suppose,’ replied Constance. ‘They’re all asses, though. They think they’re so clever, but they’re not.’ She shrugged. ‘I try not to be bothered.’

Milady didn’t reply, but it was clear she was angry. D’Artagnan had to agree. How dare they treat wonderful, clever Constance like that? How dare they make it so that she was used to it?

The thoughts dissolved into nothing when Porthos arrived. He’d just finished Physical Education and sunk into the chair in exhaustion. ‘C’mon, Milady, give it ter me. I wanna know everything.’

Milady laughed and opened the folder. She put the first piece of paper in the middle of the table for everyone to take a look at.

_The Notes of Jean Joseph de Breuil, Headmaster of the Louvre Grammar and Boarding School._

It looked as if the paper had been ripped out of a notebook. She handed round another.

_Day 1: 1 st September 19—_

_The students are settled. I found that a passage through the teachers’ dormitories leads to my office, and from there I can easily get out into the school building. The passage is accessible from a door outside the school._

_I have found nothing more apart from that Nick Pierre keeps his door locked at all times._

‘How many of those papers are there?’ asked Aramis.

‘Oh, hundreds,’ replied Milady. ‘He spent years trying to discover the truth—’ She stopped. ‘He wrote in notebooks bought by my mother; he ripped out the pages he didn’t like and threw them away. I think in the end he ripped out the entire notebook and shoved the papers in a folder where they couldn’t be found … except I found them.’

‘How old were you?’ asked Constance. ‘When he disappeared, I mean?’

‘About seven or eight,’ replied Milady quietly. ‘He went out for some milk and he never came back.’

Constance winced. She knew what it was like to have something missing from her life, although not quite so literally.

The next piece of paper described many of the school rules the children already knew about, and Milady was just about to show them a third when the bell rang, signalling that the library was about to close.

‘Drat,’ murmured Aramis to d’Artagnan, ‘just when it was about to get interesting.’

They packed their bags and began to make their way back to the dorms.

Athos stopped Milady just outside the library. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ replied Milady, ‘why wouldn’t I?’

‘You don’t have to do this.’

‘Yes, I do,’ she replied firmly. ‘I need to know the truth, Athos. I need to know if he’s dead or alive, and if he is alive, I need to know where he is; I need to know if he’s safe and happy.’

Athos said nothing. He didn’t understand, and he doubted he ever would. But he understood what Milady said next.

‘I just want my dad back.’


	3. Mercredi

Nobody was more excited for period three than d’Artagnan. Aramis had picked Religious Education—d’Artagnan didn’t understand how he could stand Richelieu for any longer than a year—so d’Artagnan sat with Feron on one of the round tables that were dotted around M. Marcheaux’s classroom.

Each of the students had come into the lesson mostly blind; those who did know what the subject was about were few and far in between. Marcheaux was already in the classroom when they arrived, and he stood tall and muscular. His name was printed on the whiteboard for the students to copy down into their exercise books, and he began by asking them to name as many wars as they could think of.

‘Azincourt!’

‘Bosworth!’

‘Hastings!’

‘Good, good,’ said Marcheaux, smiling. ‘So can anyone name any positions in a war like Azincourt? What kind of soldiers would you have?’

Quietly, Feron raised his hand. D’Artagnan had quickly learnt that, despite his silence, Feron was quite intelligent.

‘Ah, yes—Philippe.’

‘Archers,’ suggested Feron. He didn’t expand on his answer.

Marcheaux nodded. ‘Anyone else?’

‘Knights,’ offered a girl named Juliette, who had been to Bourbon’s office several times last year after picking fights with several of the boys many years older—and many inches taller—than her.

‘Very good. I hope you’re writing this down.’

D’Artagnan frantically jotted these notes down in his book, and included some others that Marcheaux wrote on the board: men-at-arms, gunners and peers. He looked back at the Advanced War Studies teacher hungrily; he wanted _more_. Marcheaux made his lessons so interesting, d’Artagnan just couldn’t get enough.

It was with great reluctance that he and Feron packed away their books when the bell rung. But d’Artagnan was relieved to see that History was next; he couldn’t wait to see Treville again.

* * *

 

 

‘Welcome,’ said Treville. He looked brighter than he had last year; he had recovered over the summer from Marsac’s passing, and certainly seemed happier and less mournful. ‘Second-year History is quite a bit different from first-year. Instead of focusing on lots of different subjects, this year we will only be focusing on one—’

‘The Borgias,’ hissed d’Artagnan to Aramis. He turned his head a little to see Rochefort looking a little bored. D’Artagnan scowled. Why, oh why, did they have to share this lesson with Perseus?

‘So, let’s get started.’ Treville picked up his stick and made his way to the board. ‘Before we begin to touch on the Borgia family, I would first like to introduce you to a man named Niccolò Machiavelli. All you need to know about him is that he invented a form of politics called Machiavellianism, and he wrote a book called _The Prince_ , which is said to be about Cesare Borgia. This information could be used to get you extra marks on your end-of-term exams. Okay! So, can anyone name any of the Borgias?’

A silent, sullen boy sat next to Rochefort raised his hand. ‘Ah, Lucien, go ahead.’

‘Rodrigo Borgia, or Pope Alexander,’ said Lucien. _Ah_ , thought d’Artagnan hotly. So that was the Lucien that talked about Constance.

‘Very good,’ praised Treville. ‘Anyone else?’

Feron raised his hand. ‘Cesare Borgia, sir.’ Rochefort sniggered loudly at him for using the teacher’s example, but Feron continued, undeterred. ‘He became head of the Papal armies, and was rumoured to have been in a relationship with his sister, Lucrezia.’

Treville became very impressed at that. He smiled widely. ‘Aha, very good! Now there are two more Borgias you might have heard of; they aren’t mentioned much but they are still part of our course. Has anyone got any idea who they might be?’

Aramis smirked at Rochefort, who looked clueless. ‘Please, sir, aren’t they called Juan and Gioffre?’

‘Yes,’ said Treville. He’d written the five names on the board for those who weren’t sure of the spelling. ‘Now, there’s one other person I haven’t mentioned. It’s a very confusing story, so if you don’t understand please tell me. Lucrezia had a child, and his name was Giovanni. They called him _Infans Romanus._ ’

‘The Roman Child!’ cried Aramis, who was pretty confident in his Latin now.

‘Indeed. But nobody knows who the child’s father was. It could have been her brother, Cesare, or her father, Rodrigo, or a secret lover. But nobody knows.’

Some of the children at the back made vomiting noises.

‘Is he important?’ asked Feron.

‘Oh, he’s _very_ important.’

* * *

 

 

Seeing Flamel again was a blessing. Constance fought not to blush or smile when she saw him. Just to think that _he_ was her father—just to think that she was _loved_ —made her grin stupidly until Jacques gave her a kick and told her to sit down. She sat at the front so that she didn’t have to see Rochefort and Lucien and Jacques laughing at her, and she stared at him for an hour.

If only she could go home with him. That’d show Jacques. He _loved_ her. He _wanted_ her. She knew if it was possible, he’d take her in his arms and give her a home and a family. If only it was possible …

She’d get up and come downstairs, still sleepy, and he’d make her breakfast and kiss her forehead and she wouldn’t have to make breakfast herself. She’d sit at the table and he’d pour her orange juice and she’d wait patiently as he made her eggs and sausages and bacon and it’d look like a silly smiley face, and she’d laugh fondly at him and he’d put the plate in front of her and call her his princess. And then, when they were all done, he’d help her plait her hair so it all stayed together and everything would be _perfect_.

She wouldn’t do anything wrong; not this time. She’d be perfect. He’d love her. It wouldn’t be like at home, where she always did something wrong and didn’t try hard enough. She’d be good this time, if he gave her the chance. She just wished she hadn’t killed her mother first.

* * *

 

She was still on her Flamel-high when she walked into English Literature. The prospect of a seating plan didn’t bother her, and she sat next to a Sirius girl named Ninon. D’Artagnan was sat at the back next to Rochefort, and Aramis was sat with Jacques. Lucien was with a boy with a cane, who was apparently Louis’s step-brother.

D’Artagnan felt sick. ‘Look at her,’ hissed Rochefort. ‘Little goody-two-shoes. I bet if you throw some pencils at her, she’ll start crying. Bet you. Go on, you gonna do it?’

D’Artagnan glared at him.

‘Okay, I’ll do it then. I’m not a coward.’ With a grin to Lucien, who had turned his head to see what his friend was doing, he ripped off part of his rubber and threw it into Constance’s hair.

‘Stop it!’ cried d’Artagnan quietly.

‘Whoever’s talking had better keep their mouths shut, unless they’d like detention,’ replied Mlle. Dur, without turning around.

Rochefort smirked at Lucien again, as if to say _look at me_. Lucien thought he was daring.

D’Artagnan and Aramis thought he was a bit of an idiot.

‘So, our topic for this year is Jekyll and Hyde—has anyone ever heard of this book?’

Immediately Feron and Lucien’s hands went up and, after a moment of looking at the back of the Perseus boy’s head, so did Rochefort’s.

* * *

 

For d’Artagnan, the bell couldn’t go quick enough. Directly after English Literature was the try-outs for the football team, and he, Aramis and Constance hurried to the football field. D’Artagnan hurried over to the other members of his house who were also trying out, and the Sirius captain quickly explained the process to him.

‘So what happens is you’re gonna give us a few shots, and dribble for us in between those cones over there, and then we’ll play a little friendly against some other of your housemates. If you get through, you’ll be playing for the house team, and by Christmas we’ll decide who gets to play for the school team. Sound OK? Not too scary?’

‘No, that’s fine,’ said d’Artagnan. He put down his name and year, and suddenly he was up against a goalie twice his height. He scored two out of five goals.

‘Not too bad for a runt like yourself,’ said the goalie, ruffling d’Artagnan’s hair. ‘Got spirit.’

He did pretty well at the dribbling, and his team won the match. He didn’t score a goal, but the captain praised him as he left, which made him feel pretty great.

He, Aramis and Constance made their way back to the dorms. It had been an exhausting day.


	4. Constance

It was looking to be an unusually warm September. The Physical Education teacher ushered the Cassiopeia and Perseus girls out onto the running track, despite the moans of ‘It’s our first lesson!’ from the girls.

It was much too warm to wear tracksuit bottoms. Both Milady and Constance huddled together in a cubicle to change; they’d gotten to the age where they were self-conscious enough to want to change away from the other girls—although Constance’s self-consciousness was for a different reason altogether—and they figured that if they were going to be sharing this lesson for the entire year, they may as well change together.

Neither knew where to look. After all, they were almost thirteen and being almost thirteen is a very difficult period. Constance tried to stare at Milady’s feet, but she was worried it’d get mistaken for staring at her underwear, and in a moment of embarrassment, turned to face the wall.

It was a slightly easier—and considerably less embarrassing—situation.

They hurried out onto the running track with the rest of the girls, where the coach told them they’d be doing two laps. Constance started out in front of Milady and, as both girls started to reluctantly run, Constance’s socks slid down her legs.

Milady almost stopped. The back of her friend’s legs were black and blue with various bruises. That wasn’t normal, she thought. Sure, she knew Jacques was a kicker, but he couldn’t have been _that_ bad, right?

* * *

 

Milady, with her heart pounding in her chest, stayed behind after Alchemy. She didn’t trust him—not after learning what he did to her father—but he _was_ Constance’s father, and her safety was incredibly important, and at the moment Milady was worried for her friend.

Flamel waited until the very last student—including Athos—had left before he spoke.

‘Anne? Is there something I can do for you, my dearest?’

‘I’m worried about someone,’ she admitted.

Flamel’s eyebrows shot up and, concerned, he turned his full attention to the twelve-year-old, who was nervously fiddling with her blazer sleeve.

‘It’s a student,’ Milady continued. ‘She’s in Perseus and she’s got auburn hair …’ Milady paused, knowing the alchemist would catch on to who she was talking about. A soft gasp escaped Flamel’s lips. ‘In Physical Education today I saw bruises all over her legs. Normally I would assume she was being bullied … but I have reason to believe she’s being abused, sir.’

For a while, Flamel said nothing. He seemed overcome with a great sadness; his face had greyed and he could barely look at Milady.

Out of the silence, he spoke softly and hoarsely: ‘Thank you. You’re dismissed.’

Milady wanted to stay and comfort him—it seemed the right thing to do—but she knew that if there was any time to do as she was told, it was now.

* * *

 

The lunch hall was packed full to bursting, and the Arcturus first-year adjusted her bag over her shoulder. Craning her neck in an attempt to look for her friends, she spotted the Cassiopeia boy and Perseus girl sat in the corner of the hall. Beaming, the girl hurried over to them. ‘Hi, Sylvie!’ grinned the Cassiopeia through a mouthful of today’s special, spaghetti Bolognese.

‘Hey, Thomas,’ replied Sylvie, beginning to wrestle her hair into the hair tie she’d just produced from the zip in her satchel. ‘You, uh, got something there.’

‘Oh, right.’ Thomas wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘What’re you getting for lunch?’

‘I dunno. I think I’ll get the stew.’

‘I ‘ad that,’ Flea put in enthusiastically. ‘It were good.’

Thomas chewed his spaghetti thoughtfully as Sylvie hurried to join the steadily-growing queue. ‘You know that girl my brother’s friends with?’ he asked. ‘The one with brown hair, yeah?’

Flea folded her arms. ‘Yeah. What about her?’

‘D’you think she’ll go out with me?’ he pressed. ‘She’s really pretty.’

Flea scoffed. ‘Yeah right. She’s a—a _second-year_ , and we ain’t even been ‘ere a week.’

‘Still,’ protested Thomas, ‘she might want to go out with me.’

‘You got tomato sauce all over ya face,’ she said evenly. ‘Even _I_ wouldn’t wanna go out wiv anyone wiv tomato sauce all over ‘is face, an’ I’m from the Court.’

Thomas huffed, just as Sylvie arrived, holding a tray of stew and a bowl of strawberry jelly. ‘What’re we talking about?’

‘Thomas got a crush on a second-year,’ Flea filled in. ‘’Cept she’s way outta ‘is league.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Talkin’ o’ them second-years … Porthos was bein’ real shady this summer. When ‘e went ter Aramis’s he came back wiv some papers an’ he wouldn’t lemme look. He said it were homework, but it wasn’t ‘is handwriting—well, most of it weren’t, anyway.’

Thomas leaned forward excitedly, pushing his plate aside. ‘You don’t think they’re up to something, do you? My brother and his friends?’

Sylvie turned her nose up at this. Taking a bite of the stew, she said firmly, ‘We shouldn’t meddle in their business. We can make our own fun.’

‘But what if they’re doing something wrong? We might be rewarded for catching them!’ Thomas looked delighted at the thought of it. Always feeling overshadowed by his brother, he longed to be the favourite child.

‘Sounds boring,’ muttered Sylvie. ‘Who wants to be all goody-two-shoes? If you want to stop them doing whatever it is, then why not prank them?’

Thomas tilted his head in consideration of the idea. ‘Well, yeah … I guess we could do that.’

‘I guess?’ echoed Flea. ‘That’d be great! Imagine all the stuff we could do to ‘em! Me an’ Porthos an’ Charon—he’s a fourth-year now—used ter have prank wars all the time before ‘e went to Louvre!’

‘Great!’ Sylvie beamed. ‘Let’s do it, then!’

* * *

 

The bus back to the Sirius dorms was mostly empty. Louis de Bourbon and his sister sat at the back. Louis’s arm was draped around his sister’s shoulder.

‘How’re you enjoying school so far? I haven’t had very much time to see you,’ he added apologetically.

‘Neither has Dad,’ mumbled Elizabeth. ‘But I like it a lot. I just had Computer Science.’

‘Oh! Are you enjoying your subjects so far?’

Elizabeth nodded enthusiastically. ‘I love History the most. M. Treville is so lovely!’

Louis laughed softly. ‘Yes, he is. He makes everything seem a little less nerve-wracking.’

‘I just wish I had some real friends.’

Instantly, Louis was reminded of Constance. ‘Maybe you could make friends with some of the second-years? Your friends don’t just have to be the same age as you, you know.’

‘Maybe,’ agreed Elizabeth, smiling a little.

The bus slowed to a stop and both siblings got up, thanking the bus driver as they left. ‘Anyway,’ said Louis, ‘grab some food from Matron. It’ll make you feel better.’ He wanted to tell her about Treville’s hot chocolate but part of him, no matter how much he cared about her and wanted her to have friends, didn’t want his little sister intruding on his time with his friends at Treville’s. It felt wrong.

He watched Elizabeth go into the first-year house and then he entered the second-year house, joining Feron in the common room.

Above him, smiling knowingly, was the portrait of an elderly, wizened man, his eyes twinkling at the pair of oblivious students.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can now find update info and other things related to the series at musketeerslouvre.tumblr.com.


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